Supposed to be Writing

I’ve got a list, miles long, of things I need to be writing. Of course I’m fucking ill. Anyways, I’m told I need to communicate more often. So now you all know how miserable I am. Lovely. I’m just going to rattle off a few thoughts, things bouncing around in my head I’d rather just forget.

A few years ago, I had a thought that there’s something wrong with performance artists: actors. I always knew they had a tendency to be extremely self-indulgent, and this translates often disastrously upon the stage. Unless there’s a director with a strong whipping hand in reign the stupid little shit in, he’ll indulge himself in whatever performance he pleases, even if the audience can’t relate. What I don’t understand is where actors get off thinking we give a shit about their political opinions, regardless of the content. I suppose I can see that people who are so visible believe they have some genuine importance; the problem is that they’re actors. They don’t know anything. They haven’t spent eight years studying the philosophy of politics. They’re just dancing apes with too much money and an inflated sense of self importance. This is worsened by the fact that they’re a very visible representation of the establishment which has fattened itself upon the starvation and suffering of the American and international vulgus. They won’t be making any friends. Hollywood’s on the way out anyways.

I’m apparently very out of touch. Other day I was wasting my time and I decided to indulge myself in some idiotic personality test I was linked. On of the questions asked me what song by what singer I liked the most. Think there were eight different answers. I didn’t recognize a song title or artist among them. I basically listen to to the music my dad listens to.

I think the current pope is making Orthodox Christianity a more attractive prospect to long-suffering Catholics. I’ve seen the liturgy performed in several different traditions. Old Church Slavonic was easily the most stunning.

I was at a funeral within the last few years. At the wake, they had the priest come and bless the corpse or whatever it is they bloody do. Guy didn’t know the deceased, didn’t know much of anything, gurgled and blurped some lines of profanity in the tongue of a fawning fairy, and then he was off. Fucking asshole. People liked him, too. I think he was trying hard to be relatable, and as a consequence he came across as completely inauthentic, which was the only authentic thing about him.

If anyone I know reads this, I might get in some trouble.

You know, just the other day I was bragging about my “rude health.” I realized it wasn’t in common parlance when I tried it on other people. It’s a term I first saw in a video game when I was a kid. It was a war game. I look like a corpse risen recently from the gravedust with sharpness in his eyes. Wrote a story once about a character like that. Haven’t released it. I will. Eventually.

I liked the treatment of humans in Tolkien’s work. Mortality was a blessing, not a curse. Was gifted a copy–in translation–of the Hagakure many years ago. Fun read–parts of it, at least. The whole bit about “dying like a dog” was interesting. It’s a perspective people can’t really relate to anymore. You need to grow up in a house in which 6 of your 11 siblings died in childhood, your mother died in childbirth, and your father died a few years later in a duel. People aren’t tough like that anymore.

Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I need to go find a bucket or a bathroom. Toodles.